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by ledbythreads



Series: Heart in your hand [7]
Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: 1972, Aotearoa/ New Zealand tour, Bathrooms, Bathtub Sex, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Canon Timeline, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Kissing, Love On Tour, M/M, One True Pairing, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shaving, Straight Razors, This is the day Jimmy shaves his beard off, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads
Summary: "Shave me" You say
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: Heart in your hand [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523687
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	Close

You are lolling back in the bath and we are so still the water is glassy. Little ripples as you breathe, shallow.

I want to watch you forever. Pretty baby. Your face so new, yet long ago like you look in my dreams.

With the beard you could hide. A little anyway.

I like you raw.

Open.

Not that it didn't have its delights. My own Harroun Al Rashid in silks, springy hairs scratching my thighs. My secret places. The smell of myself on you afterwards.

Your bright smile cutting through. A moon low against the night sky.

I suck on the joint and the glow is mirrored on the water. The weed here is different. Homegrown and bitter.

I want you sweet on my tongue.

Your cock is soft and curled in your bush like an anemone only half visible under the water.

For now.

I exhale and the smoke settles like mist. The water is cool. Your nipples are hard and I want to feel them against my own skin.

The yoke of your chest hair fluffing up again as your skin dries. We've been lying here a long time.

Maybe you don't want to go back out to everyone's stares.

There's not really enough room in here for two tall men, but with our legs bridged together in the middle, each one’s over the other’s, we manage.

The tips of my fingers are wrinkling. Yours are ivory talons clicking against the enamel of the tub. When you fuck me with your fingers you must use your left hand.

I stub out the roach against the edge of the bath and let it fall on the floor where it hisses.. Then I dip my hands under the water to cup your arse.

You shift up slightly to let me. Eyes still shut.

Half smile.

You've left little sharp sideburns and you've missed in quite a few places. Your arse cheeks are hairless and soft. Where you are hairless you are entirely so. Your butt, your belly, your inner thighs. Your back. I'm getting more hair on my belly. It’s thicker but doesn’t show so much where the sun has bleached it. I like you to come on me there. I like to go on stage with your cum and your scent on my skin. Like the Picts wore woad for protection. 

In the dark of the wings you slip your hand inside my jeans, fingertips following the trail of my hair down. You lick my sweat off your knuckles with the footlights glinting in the dark of your eyes.

I don't think we have ever fucked in this position. I guess we could if you could hold yourself up for long enough on your arms. Sometimes you like awkward angles.

Things that don't quite look plausible.

Fucking in the bath is a drag though. The wetter we are the drier it feels.

_Two nuns in the bath._

_Wears the soap._

_Yes it does doesn't it..._

I giggle and you smile full beam, and in one great sloshing motion slither upright and into my lap. Water all over the floor.

Your skinny ass against my cock.

Hands tangling in my hair. Thighs and knees gripping me.

Tongue in my mouth like you can taste what I've been thinking.

Then you hold back from me, trying to look wicked.

"Shave me" you say.

—-

You are sitting on the edge of the bath. You look fragile, precarious, but the scissors in your hand glint like a warning.

You turned on the hot tap when you got out to hunt for your supplies and now I'm starting to sweat. I turn away to close it off and I can see you reflected in the faucet. Your open thighs. Your cock and balls hanging like a dare.

I watched you this afternoon trimming and clipping and then lather and steel. Emerging. I wanted my hands on your face. My fingers in your mouth.

More than my fingers.

You'd forgotten at first, then you wanted photographs. Documenting your rebirth like a proud father of your new self.

You've been playing tweedy laird of Loch Ness ever since Bron-Yr-Aur.

Who are you going to be now?

I think you liked watching yourself take my breath away where I could do precisely nothing about it.

Then suddenly the attention was too much, and you sent us all away.

When I slid back inside your room every sign was tidied up except for the old-time scent of block shaving soap that the local pharmacy has stocked.

Everything here is so out of time. Till we arrived. A marauding horde. 

"Will you trim it, or will I?" you ask my back.

I twirl round mixing the water and squirt some up at you from between my hands.

"Sod off." you say and squint down to start snipping.

It's like some kind of druid sacrifice. If druids were this flirtatious. You hacked off quite a bit of your hair too, earlier. Of course, I took some, but it isn't alive like it is on your head. If I were braver, I would ask you for a whole long lock and braid it into my own like a pirate.

I take the scissors from your hands and you sit back like your triumph is a peardrop you are sucking.

This is a new kind of touching.

As your hair falls into the bathwater I know it will get stuck to me. It's mildly disgusting in the way other things from your body never are.

Spit and cum and sweat. Even watching you piss is kind of enchanting, but this?

I like you the way you are.

However much things change, you have always been the same under your clothes. I could strip you bare and find you as I first did. Like a miracle.

That's short enough, I think. I look up and you blush and look away.

I follow your eyes. You have your shaving kit out on the white cane backed chair they have in here.

Brush, soap dish, straight razor on a soft cloth. The things you sent for.

The thought of metal on your skin is suddenly exciting. .

You'd love me to get the leather strop too, and welt you with it.

Well, you can want.

I want to play trust games.

I nudge your legs wider.

"Keep your hands on the bath or you don't get to come" I say. Matter of fact.

I see your belly tense with the thrill of it. Concave. I can see your pulse in your femoral artery. I lean down and kiss you there.

Then pull away. Take the stubby brush and the soap and start to work them together.

Getting you in a lather.

Taking my time.

Watching you get a little hard before I touch you again, my own erection hidden under the water.

I hope you bail on this game early, because I have absolutely no faith in my ability to shave your balls without fucking it right up.

Ballsing it up.

As they say.

If I slip and cut you, you'd probably like it though.

This is always the catch with you.

If it can't go wrong, you lose interest.

I wonder if this kind of soap works well as a lubricant. I wonder who will end up fucking who.

I wonder if we could do it on the chair without breaking it and then remember that half the rooms will be trashed before tomorrow morning and after the gig you will be holding court in the middle of it, perhaps reading a book just to prove how jaded you are.

I will probably end up in some tangle with person or persons yet unknown thinking how astonished they'd be to know I suck cock better than they do.

I really am still quite stoned.

"Baby" you whisper. Husky. Bringing me back to earth. "Kiss me"

One hand in your hair I kiss you and with the other I soap your cock. I soap between your legs. I soap your chest and thumb your nipples. It feels holy.

I ring my thumb and forefinger round you like a cock ring as I kiss you slowly, thoroughly. Kissing away all the layers you put between us.

I get you half desperate. Twice. Then switch it back to the brush and the lather. The brush scritches in the quarter inch of stubble your bush is snipped down to.

That sound of Saturday morning barbers and the buzz of clippers at the back of my neck while the men talked.

Warm in my belly looking at the pictures of footballers on the wall, and the smell of cologne and hair oil.

The sway of the crowd at Molineux is the only thing anywhere close to how I feel about my hand making you hard right now.

My heart beating out of my chest as you start to moan.

I stop again and take up the razor. Watch your cock rise and twitch as I shave you. 

You are breathy and high, your eyes following everything. Holding yourself on the edge of the bath with your hips canted towards me. Your long feet either side of my knees. The water glinting on the whorls of hair on your legs. You are all contrasts - smooth and furry. I like to lick where one becomes the other. I’m not sure what your cock will look like naked. 

So hard. 

I think about the cine cameras we bought in Tokyo.

I'd be a blue movie for you. I'd like to get you off - watching us on film.

Dangerous.

Like this blade against your skin. All edge.

Closer than ever. 

I love you so much it scares me.

I have followed you to the ends of the earth and I will follow you back again.

I could cut you, scar you.

I could expose. You. Us. Everything.

I drop the razor onto the tile and take you in my hand again, feeling frantic. Your body is meeting mine now in that way it does when you are past being able to stop it. Fucking into my slippy fist. I work other fingers into your arsehole, my knees slipping on the curves of the bath, my skin stinging with being too long in the water. I'm holding my fist still for you to fuck into and I'm fucking your ass with my fingers, deep and fast. Deep as I can. 

You have not let go of the bath edge. You are obeying me. I feel obscenely moved.

I want you to come on my face, in my hair. I don't know what I want. 

There is something about this that is skinning us both alive.

Something awkward and raw and painful. I'm saying Pagey Pagey Pagey like a kid, and you are looking at me, wide thirsting eyes like something inside you is breaking. Hands still holding the side of the bath.

"You wanna come." I say. Not a tease. Not a game. Just me and you. 

You nod.

You look so young again.

"Hold me." I say.

And you do. Cold hands on me. Warming from my heat.

I'm wet, between your legs, in the circle of your arms. Crooking my fingers inside you and making you come.

Oh baby, pretty baby, darling.

You come like a comet. 

I pull you down into the water. And under. And up. Baptism.

You rub the water out of your eyes with the back of your hand. Laughing.

Then you look thoughtful. Serious.

"Baby? Do you think we can fuck on that chair or will we break it?"

"I think fucking you on that chair might break _me_ "

"Good" you say "That's exactly what I had in mind"

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of nice snippets of canon for this period - some is in the Led Zeppelin by Led Zeppelin book and I will link when I pop back. If you follow me on tumblr you might have seen my obsession with a picture Robert took of Jimmy at a sound check the first gig after he shaved his beard off. Well it's about that time.


End file.
